


Modern Necromancy

by melodies_from_beyond



Series: Modern Necromancy [1]
Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Content Warning: Ianthe Tridentarius, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Harrow in Gideon's hoodie, Porn With Plot, Shower Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, interns I guess, synthetic thanergy, this was not supposed to have plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodies_from_beyond/pseuds/melodies_from_beyond
Summary: After a particularly intense meeting at a company Gideon and Harrow are interning at, they take to the bedroom to relieve the stress of the day.Things heat up pretty quickly from there.
Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Series: Modern Necromancy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061903
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Punishment

Harrow and Gideon were driving home from an ill-fated, intense meeting at their company. It did not go over well. Their intern team had a proposal that their competitors were highly dubious of, a concept that involved necromantic principles in weapon creation, the end goal allowing the weapon to supply the necromancer with synthetic thangergy while the cavaliers would use it. In the end, the idea was kept on the ‘to be considered’ list, as that day their team had a decent idea for a change, but they still thought it was going to flop.

Gideon had the music blasting with her favorite band, drowning out the remainders of the meeting echoing through her mind. The music was awful, screeching guitars and distorted drums and whining vocals. Harrow took a tentative glance at Gideon. Majorly pissed, Gideon’s lips were set in a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed so hard they were practically on collision course. 

Harrow thought for a minute before speaking up, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

‘Griddle,’ she began.

‘What?’ Gideon answered coldly, immediately cutting Harrow off. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel, impatiently, somewhat in rhythm with the drums but not really.

‘We need to talk.’ Harrow fought to make her voice soothing, softer than usual.

‘About what? About how you didn't back me up like you said you would?!’ Gideon fumed.

'N-no It's not that, I just...'

‘You just what? You thought, 'Oh this isn't gonna work out for Gideon, I can't help her blah blah blah, might as well stay out of it.’ I call bullshit.’ Gideon punctuated her sentence by cranking up the wall of sound even more, thereby ending the conversation. Her walls were up and locked with the key thrown far away out some airlock.

‘No!’ Harrow turned off the music, a harsh, quick motion, smacking the volume off, betraying her desperation. ‘Griddle, pull over and stop the car. Now.’

Gideon was unaware, gripping the wheel tighter. Harrow couldn’t tell if she was being deliberately ignored or if the ginger just refused to acknowledge her very presence. 

‘Gideon, now.’

Gideon gritted her teeth tighter, impatience rising. She pushed her sunglasses up her nose a fraction of an inch, the motion more a reflex than one that served any purpose. Finally she gave in, found an exit, drifted down into a little market area, and pulled over into a nearby parking lot. She parked the car, jerking up the emergency brake so hard Harrow thought she was trying to rip it out. Sparks cracked in the space between their tense bodies. 

‘What do you want, Harrow?’ Gideon demanded, not wavering from her intense gaze out the window. The massive posters on the shop windows were not that interesting, so Harrow knew it was a ruse. 

Harrow leaned over and gently tried to bring her hand up to Gideon's face, wanting to turn her face towards her. But before she could, Gideon slapped her hand away, still not looking in Harrow’s direction.

‘Don't touch me.’ She said angrily, her voice full of venom.

‘Look at me, Griddle! You big idiot!’ Harrow forcefully clasped her hand on Gideon's sharp cheekbone, forcing her to turn her head. Gideon’s gleaming gold eyes bore into her own, alight with anger, too bright behind the dark lenses. Harrow removed the glasses, setting them down on the centre console, successfully dismantling one piece of the wall meant to keep her out.

Gideon stared at her vehemently, tears creeping down her face. Tears of frustration. Tears of hot fucking rage. Upon seeing those tears, Harrow softened her hand and gently kissed the other girl’s cheek, pulling Gideon slightly towards her. The seat belt bit into her collarbone as she leaned over, but she ignored it, wrangling her arm over the material so it cut into her ribs, which was slightly less intrusive.

‘I'm sorry I couldn't back you up in the meeting. I knew someone who would turn your idea around if I had said something, anything! Let's just say they don't really have a liking to me and they're against anything I stand for, and probably more that they think I stand for. Some of those men just hate me because I’m new, and I’m young, and, I, I’m just eighteen! They think I’m totally out of my mind, being there! I didn't want you to fall because of their putrid hatred for me. They hate me so much I can feel it radiate off from their bodies.’ Her dark eyes fell to the console, where an empty bottle of water sat, waiting to be recycled. ‘...And I think they know about us. In… that way. I’m so sorry…’

That wasn’t good. Harrow felt burning tears fight to spill over, but she pushed them back. She couldn’t cry, not here, not now. Gideon did not need to see her like this.

Harrow reached a thin arm around her girlfriend, rubbing her back through her shirt as Gideon's tears silently streamed down. She brushed away the worst of them with her other hand. Until the last drop fell, they stayed that way, Harrow’s slender body twisted around the seatbelt, Gideon sitting almost stoically if not for the fact that she was crying.

‘Better now?’ Harrow asked with a hopeful smile.

— — —

Gideon did not expect that tenderness from Harrow, and the fact that she got it left her suspecting something wasn’t quite right. But then again, the entire meeting was fucking weird, so she chalked it up to residual angst from that. One strange meeting could fuck up the rest of any day.

‘Whatever. Dumbass,’ She said, disquieted, as she gently pushed Harrow back into her seat, face still red, and started the car. She hoped her rough tone would mask her feelings, even though she had no idea how well that mask held up, considering the stress was pushing her to tears. Harrow had recently gotten extremely in tune to her feelings, and attempting to hide them was becoming a useless waste of energy and time.

They drove home in silence, Gideon’s distress tainting the air like a rotten corpse left out too long. She avoided Harrow's worried black eyes by locking her gaze out to the centre of the road ahead of their car, this time sunglasses-less. She did not turn the noise back on, nor slide the glasses back on her face.

Soon, they navigated the maze of streetlights and roads that made the path to their house, and they pulled in the driveway. The two silently walked into their house, Gideon first, Harrow trailing a few feet behind. 

Gideon dropped the keys and sunglasses ungracefully at their table before retreating to the bedroom, thinking this was nothing some sexy time won’t fix. Mag or real, it didn’t matter, as long as she could get her frustrations out somehow. And jerking off was a bit less destructive than punching a million holes in the drywall.

‘I'm going to get a shower,’ Harrow said, following Gideon into their master bedroom, her thin hips swaying slightly, catching Gideon’s eye. Was that an invitation, or Harrow wavering after all day running around the office? It seemed far too deliberate than a usual shifting of weight. 

Whatever. She was probably imagining things.

Gideon grunted in response at the other girl as she flopped onto the bed, reaching under the mattress for a titty mag after she heard the shower curtain close. 

Soon after, Gideon’s mind started to wander as the shower head turned on, the familiar sounds of the water drifting out of the bathroom, which was followed by a faint moan as cold water hit bare, virgin flesh. That moan made her loins stir and prickle, distracting her from her pinups and flimsy-printed, probably digitally enhanced DDD-tits.

Intrigued, Gideon rose from the bed and undressed, peeling each layer off like dead skin after a sunburn. She crept into the bathroom silently, giving Harrow no warning of her intentions. After all, Harrow saw her cry, which was bad enough. Harrow wouldn’t get the luxury of a warning this time. 

Moving the curtain silently from the back, she peeked in, admiring all Harrow’s wonders; the curve of her back, the swell of slim hips, the empty space between her legs, the other girl’s lean body in all its glory. Her body was tempting, her pale skin, glimmering with water, was like candy to Gideon’s tired eyes.

Gideon crept in, silently, coming up behind Harrow and kissing her delicate neck. She placed her hands around Harrow’s rib cage, brushing the bottom of the girl's breasts.

Startled a little, Harrow moved instantly under her hands, a brief fear reflex, until she noticed the orange locks and gold eyes belonging to the face that was kissing her. Ashamed to be caught unawares, Harrow planted a hand on one of Gideon’s, clearly intending to shove it off and make her wait. But Gideon was hungry. She wanted Harrow  _ now.  _

— — —

‘Griddle, what are you doing?’ Harrow paused, rising her hair, turning slightly towards Gideon, who was kissing the top of her head.

‘Enjoying you,’ Gideon murmured playfully in between kisses.

‘Stop, just let me finish up,’ Harrow’s voice dripped with annoyance, her eyes narrowing. For fuck’s sake, she was in the shower, soggy, getting drenched, and not entirely in the mood. She felt decidedly like a wet bird, her hair plastered to her neck, a little cold where the water didn’t hit, and rather unsexy.

‘I don’t wanna.’

‘I told you to stop it,’ Harrow said, trying halfheartedly to push Gideon’s strong hands from her body, but the effort wasn’t there. She was starting to like it, yearning blooming from between her legs. But Gideon lifted her fingers in compliance, and then Harrow was annoyed for a different reason.

Now she didn’t want Griddle to stop.

‘No,’ Gideon murmured, ‘You were mean to me, and now you're getting punishment.’ 

Gideon’s hands returned to Harrow's slick skin, relentless. The implications of _punishment_ were tempting, thrilling even, and she relished Gideon’s embrace. Desire sent heat shooting through her limbs, her clit pulsing, aching for Gideon’s fingers. Harrow partly hated how her body betrayed her, shivering, tingling at Gideon's caress, but it also excited her. Her mind and body were disconnected, her mind wanting to settle down but her body exciting at the promise of pleasure.

‘I-’ Harrow started. 

Gideon spun Harrow around, their faces inches apart, their naked bodies even closer. Harrow’s black eyes were wide with surprise, framed by dewy lashes. 

‘Not now, Griddle…’ Harrow protested halfheartedly, grinning shyly, but she didn’t move an inch, giving into her lover’s embrace. She peered into the golden eyes in front of her, taking in every detail of their wonderful rich amber. She was transfixed. _Damn you, Nav. You sure do know how to work your charms._

Gideon began to move her face closer, as Harrow stared in wonder, slightly distracted by the relentless water running down her back. Why she never noticed Gideon's beautiful golden eyes that seemed to make the world stall in wonder, she didn’t know. Those eyes made the world seem brighter than the reality that laid before them. They made her heart jump, skipping along erratically. They made her loins burn in anticipation. A dampness grew between her legs, a slickness that definitely wasn’t water creeping down her inner thighs. She didn’t want to do it right now, trapped under the showerhead, but her body was ready.

Sensing Gideon's presence coming closer and closer, until there was nothing left between their lips, she closed her eyes and embraced the aching desire taking flight within her. She longed for Gideon, for Gideon’s strong fingers inside her, and wanted her lover’s attention. All of it. On her. On nothing but her. She wanted to revel in her lover’s gaze, naked as the day she was spawned. She wanted Gideon’s hands on her skin, in her body, tangled in her hair, caressing her face and hands. But she would never, ever admit it, not even to herself, not now. She needed to finish her shower first, even though that probably wasn’t going to happen. 

Gideon brought her left hand up to Harrow’s face, gently caressing her cheekbone and brow, tracing the outline of Harrow’s slightly parted lips with her thumb. She stroked the sensitive skin near the girl’s ear, and then her flushed cheek once more, before bringing her hand behind the girl’s head, twining her fingers in Harrow’s damp black curls. 

She slipped her tongue in Harrow’s mouth, deepening the kiss, and she felt a low rumble from deep in her girlfriend’s throat. 

The first of Harrow’s moans were sweeter than chocolate, wordless promises that emerged as she gave in to the yearning. 

Reaching down, Gideon turned the faucet off, halting the torrent Harrow was previously stuck under. That was better. She caressed Harrow’s lean, sculpted body, feeling every inch of her supple skin. She groped Harrow’s firm breasts slowly, probing her stiff nipples with her fingertips, then making her way down, fingers sliding over every rib, taking in every bit of her. Harrow felt like she was finally loved for who she was under Gideon’s big gentle hands. Now, she didn’t need to try and be something she was not. She was Harrowhark Nonagesimus, beloved of Gideon Nav, and she was enough.

The only person that mattered was Griddle, and to Griddle she was perfect just the way she was.

Gideon moved her kisses down from Harrow’s lips to her jaw, to her neck, and down to her collarbone. She searched and bit and sucked with every kiss, disrupting the minute blood vessels just under the tender skin, breaking them. Harrow could tell that she would have a million vibrant red hickeys tomorrow, blooming all over her neck and chest and maybe even her face, Gideon’s marks proclaiming Harrow as hers. Dumb butch lesbians are fearsome creatures to behold. _Well, shit._ _This is going to confirm every one of our competitor’s suspicions that we’re fucking in an instant when they see me tomorrow._

‘Ahh... I... Griddle...’ Before any coherent words came out of her mouth, Gideon had started sucking at her breasts and kissing her nipples, leaving Harrow to a moaning mess. The stirrings of heat between her legs violently tugged at her limbs. If she’d slipped a finger inside herself, she was sure it would come out slick and wet - and definitely not from the excess water. 

‘Fuck,’ Harrow said, while Gideon's hands were all over Harrow's tits and then sliding down past her hip bones, and near her lower lips, then probing her wet opening, and then penetrating her burning vagina. Gideon stuck two rigid fingers in, slowly, so she didn’t tear the flesh around her entrance. Moving them, Gideon slid inside of her, out, and deep in again, grinding against Harrow’s pulsating walls. Her knees were unsteady, her legs shaking with her body’s anticipation. Her mind began to grow sharp as Gideon’s palm massaged her pulsing clit. Her shaking hands took hold of Gideon's firm arms, clinging onto her biceps, holding herself steady. She didn’t trust her legs to support her body anymore, not wanting to risk a concussion from her head smacking the shower tile. Harrow’s fingernails dug into Gideon’s flesh, breaking the tan skin a little bit, leaving indents that would scab over soon enough, her own way of marking Gideon as her own. 

Blood slowly seeped from Gideon’s upper arms from the tiny half-moon shaped cuts, collecting under Harrow’s fingernails. The immense pleasure brought out of Gideon's fingers scissoring in and out of her left her nearly senseless, yet her body was all the more sensitive, her nerves creating patterns of warm sensations as Gideon’s fingers skimmed over Harrow’s body. Her hands rose to Gideon’s red hair, twisting it up within her fingers. Gideon’s lips pressed on the hollow between her hipbones, kissing her a few inches below her navel. _Aaaaand another hickey there...._

Harrow’s tight body tensed and shuddered with every move, with every grind, with every touch. She sensed her climax creeping closer, and even closer as Gideon’s tongue smoothed over her clit, Gideon’s top teeth pressing into her naked flesh. Her lover’s strong arm was wrapped around her slender thighs, a hand on the side of her hip, supporting her in case her weakened legs gave out and she fell. She appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture immediately.

And then it happened. Harrow reached her limit, crying out, and came on Gideon's face and hand, back arched, body tight, breasts pushed upwards. She groaned deep in her throat, as Gideon did not pull her face away from where it was, continuing to pleasure her. Her body was nearly vibrating with pleasure, muscles contracting and releasing in waves throughout her entire body, and the only thing she knew was Gideon; her warm shoulder and smooth hair under her hands, her gentle tongue on her clit, her big fingers still inside her. 

‘Good girl.’ Gideon said, smirking, pulling her sticky face away, sliding her fingers out from inside Harrow, turned the faucet back on, washing her hand and trying to wipe away Harrow’s fluids from her chin and neck before shutting it off. She stepped out of the shower, victorious. 

She left Harrow in the shower, a sore, wilted mess. _If you want more, then come to me,_ Gideon requested, but with a teasing glance over her muscled shoulder and a twitch of her hips.

Harrow was suddenly enraged at the way Griddle treated her, at being praised like a little child or a pet after responding so eagerly to her lover’s touch. Her heart was pumping, thundering in her ears, her clit pulsing with desire for more. Begging for more. Her mind wanting to taste Gideon's lips again. Tired, she collapsed onto the tile, her legs falling numb, still trembling from the intensity of the stimulation between her legs. Unbidden tears sprang up, blurring her vision. _Why do I have to be this way around her?_

Mustering the energy to get back up, she abandoned her shower and walked out the bathroom with only a towel on, and loosely at that. Her body craved more, and her betraying hands complied by leaving one breast almost completely bare, the towel open tantalizingly over her lower body.

Harrow dimly saw a strap-on nearby, but not really registering it, heaped on the bed in a tangle of shining leather and wicked-large dildo, but her attention was focused on Gideon, her tan legs spread just enough for Harrow to glimpse the flesh under her ginger curls.

Then, Gideon rose from their bed, walking towards Harrow, and smoothed her hand down her neck, then her back, and then the curve of her ass, fingers probing towards that pulse between her legs, admiring her body. Harrow basked in the glory that was Gideon’s passion for her.

— — —

  
  


‘Griddle,’ Harrow said, before she was cut off by Gideon's hungering lips, swallowing her words. She dropped the towel in a heap on the ground, laying down on her back on the bed, guided by her lover’s strong hands. 

Gideon broke the kiss, a wicked glint in those golden eyes. ‘Shut up. Save your words for later.’ She growled as she climbed over Harrow’s anticipating body, straddling her, subtly spreading her lover’s legs with her sheer physical presence. 

‘I just want to listen to your melodical moans that are sexy as  _ all fuck _ . You  _ know _ that’s what turns me on,’ Gideon taunted as she grabbed the strap on by the dildo and quickly pulled it over her muscled legs, securing the buckles. Harrow’s face was blissful, her eyes closed to obsidian slits framed with inky lashes, plump lips parted, still obviously coming off the high from her first orgasm. Her rough words were the icing on the cake, obvious as Harrow’s hips twitched, and she reached for Gideon’s face, inviting her closer. 

Lowering herself over Harrow’s slender body, Gideon kissed her, eventually slipping her tongue in, adventuring every crevice and inch of her mouth. Her large hands gently held Harrow’s face like a prize, a precious, priceless creation. Harrow opened her mouth more, inviting her lover in deeper. She moaned, softly, assenting to whatever Gideon wanted. Power swelled in Gideon’s chest as she knew she held Harrow’s trust in her figurative palms.

Bringing her hands down to Harrow's body, she caressed every inch once again, running them over the bones and concave places and little curves of breasts and thighs and hips. Harrow was so thin, and Gideon knew that Harrow knew, but she never complained. And with her hands on her like this, Harrow felt perfect, a petite aphrodite, belonging only to Gideon. 

Breaking their kiss, Gideon pulled away, a string of saliva briefly connecting their swollen lips. Staring into each other's eyes, their lust for each other burning, Harrow shifted under Gideon, bringing her legs up and open. Harrow grasped one of Gideon’s strong hands and placed it between her open, waiting legs, right on her throbbing clit. 

Excited, Gideon made her way down Harrow's body with trails of gentle kisses, starting from her temple and ending on the bare flesh just above her clit, her lips lingering more as she caressed Harrow’s face, neck and breasts. Gideon’s hand, the one Harrow had positioned, started to work faster at her clit, rocking her thumb over the nerve endings as Harrow writhed in pleasure. Her tiny body shivered in response to her lover’s touches, despite being all tangled up in Gideon’s limbs.

Then, Gideon finally reached her destination, going lower this final time with her lips, and started to suck on Harrow's clit, pulling her fingers away. She was making Harrow moan as before, soft low moans, not words but melodic sounds, and those beautiful sounds were ethereal to Gideon’s ears, a testament to her ability to pleasure another girl. 

Harrow's shaking legs wrapped around Gideon's neck, heels pressed into her lover's upper back, locking her close.

As Gideon's tongue worked, Harrow's back arched, her hips fighting to remain still, and her little hands pressed her lover’s head down. The small girl gasped and panted, her amorous moans a melody, her bare chest heaving. Her nipples burned with jealousy this second time around, envious of the attention that was not on them. 

Gideon never really expected Harrow to respond in that way, despite having been with her for so long, but she knew her lover wanted more — so she gave her more.

She slid two of her fingers inside her wet, waiting entrance, stroking, feeling for the tender spot near the top. Harrow began to moan in more varying tones, sighing a melody of passion, the most beautiful song that would ever grace the earth. Gideon found the spongy tissue, right at the front of her lover’s vagina, and she gently pressed it, ready for Harrow's fluids to spill over. 

And then they did. Harrow cried out in ecstasy, her body jerking once more, and hot fluid ejaculated out into Gideon’s waiting palm. Gideon considered herself extremely lucky; not only did she have an extremely hot girlfriend, one who sang during orgasm, which was insane enough, but holy fuck did the girl  _ cum.  _

Gideon brought her muscular body upwards, kissing harrow's hip bones, a trail for each crest, and the hollow space of her belly, her sternum and the space between her perky breasts. Gideon slid the strap on inside Harrow, now that she was wet and ready, and began to work her hips, thrusting. Her hands were on Harrow's narrow hips, holding the tiny girl in place, but not hurting her. Harrow's pleasure song continued, tones of pleasure erupting under Gideon's touches. Her tiny hands rested over her lover’s, tenderly encircling her wrists.

Alone in their bedroom, Harrow’s intense orgasming transformed her into a siren.

The thrusts picked up in force, and Gideon stared deep into Harrow's half-shut eyes. Harrow's mouth was parted, ready for her lover's. Even her pale skin held a sensual flush. Gideon held Harrow’s hands, bringing one up to her lips and sucking her blood from her lover’s fingertips.

Harrow panted, her song dissipating, gasping for oxygen, for more, as Gideon slid out of her and crawled completely above her once again. Her face was flushed. Gideon's eyes were intoxicating, a brilliant amber framed by eyelashes like liquid fire. 

— — —

Harrow felt so small, so safe, protected by her lover’s muscular frame, as Gideon tenderly kissed her forehead and pulled away. 

‘You can't be done with me now,’ Harrow demanded softly, her hands exploring the ridges and valleys of Gideon's ferociously muscled back. She couldn’t believe her body, not after climaxing  _ twice _ , but her relentless vagina ached for Gideon's fingers. She didn’t like the dildo. It was fake, synthetic, not real. It only served Gideon, playing into her masculine fantasies, and for that she put up with it, but she preferred fingers — or Griddle’s mouth down in the place between her legs. 

In response, Gideon pulled Harrow close and flipped them both over, so she lay belly down on Gideon's body. Again, Harrow was surprised that Gideon never complained of her sharp protruding bones, and she was thankful. Gideon’s hands rested on the small of her back, her legs propped up so the dildo angled away from Harrow’s crotch. 

Gideon’s ample breasts were tempting her, no longer flattened by her bandeau, her skin tan even close to her nipples. Harrow held them, kissing the stiff nipples, as Gideon reached down with one hand and began to finger her, very, very gently, her fingers tracing over her damp inner labia and slowly probing her entrance, but never penetrating deeper than the first knuckle. Harrow left a few little marks of her possession, but not where they would be seen, on the undersides of Gideon’s tits. Pride welled inside her as she watched Gideon’s lips curl into that familiar lopsided smirk, her amber eyes half-closed, content.

One of Gideon's hands smoothed through her drying inky hair, and the other slowly through the tight flesh between her legs, occasionally stroking her inner thighs. Harrow reached for her lover's face, caressing it, touching every centimetre. She ran the tips of her fingers on Gideon's lips, occasionally pushing inwards to feel smooth white teeth, slightly wary of being nipped, but she decided the reward was worth the risk. Pulling her body up on her elbows, Harrow touched the tips of Gideon's red eyelashes, and they flickered under her fingers, so she gently stroked the skin around her golden eyes, under her brows, right near her tear ducts, and on the faint shadow underneath. Harrow was in complete awe of the trust built between them, as Gideon allowing herself such vulnerability in her weary state was infinitely rewarding. She only let Harrow that close when it was only the two of them, alone and safe from prying eyes. 

Harrow grew drowsy, nearly mirroring Griddle’s content expression, her own eyes drooping, her body heavy and tired. 

— — —

Gideon's dexterous fingers and flexible wrists had their own sort of magic to them, it seemed, as she could feel Harrow squirming and writhing as she had probed between her legs. It didn’t seem like Harrow was aware either, as she kissed her stiff nipples, holding her tits in her small, gentle hands. But she stopped before too much time had passed, as Harrow soon grew weary, no longer responding quite so vigorously under Gideon’s palms. 

So, she gathered Harrow up in her arms and buried her face in her lover’s clean hair, inhaling the soap smell mixed with the faint scent of something distinctly Harrow. It was her favorite smell, a little like ink and old blood, the scent of someone fine-tuned to thanergy. The two lie in bed, together, for almost an hour, Harrow gently caressing her face, eventually drifting off in Gideon’s strong arms, exhausted. Gideon petted Harrow's soft waves of hair, murmuring sweet nothings to her as her lover gave in to sleep.

When she was sure Harrow was out of it, she slid out of her strap-on, undoing the buckles so as not to disturb her twilit princess, and tossed it near the bathroom sink where she would clean it off later. Hugging Harrow's slight sleeping form once more, she let her eyes droop and her mind quiet. She settled her chin in the space between Harrow's neck and shoulder, tucking her legs up behind her lover’s, and wrapping her arms around Harrow's tiny body, pulling her close, completing the spoon. 

It was in that way that the Gideon also eventually fell asleep, confident that the events from earlier were behind them.  
  



	2. Synthan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Harrow and Gideon go back to the company to collaborate with the other interns to successfully plan out a practical modern weapon. But here's the catch: it is not any ordinary weapon. 
> 
> They must charge the weapon with synthetic thanergy.

Sometime during the early hours of the morning, Harrow stirred. Through dream-heavy lashes she watched Gideon rise, her strong body lit by the pre-dawn light filtering through the windows. As she moved, the muscles rippled in her arms and her upper back, mesmerizing and beautiful. 

‘Where… What are...?’ Harrow murmured, her lips not forming the words right, but loud enough to make Gideon look over at her. Sleep tugged at her, wanting her back, but she fought it for a few more precious minutes so she could be with the girl she loved more than anything. 

Gideon walked over and gave Harrow a kiss on her temple, a big calloused hand cupping her cheek.

‘I’m going to the workplace. Our team is meeting early today to develop our concept, to get an edge over those bastards,’ Gideon said, very softly, her voice still laced with sleep, so Harrow could return to dreamland without disturbance. ‘I’ll let them know you aren’t feeling good, and that you’ll be in later.’

Harrow felt another kiss, this time on the corner of her lips, as her consciousness faded. She was dimly aware of Gideon pulling her jacket on and calling something out to her, and she couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the words, but the kindness within them bloomed in her heart as she drifted back asleep.

— — —

A few hours later, Harrow woke again, for real this time. The clock on the wall read 11:38 A.M. She always needed extra rest after sex, her small body only able to handle so much in one day. 

Yesterday night, after she and Gideon woke up from a short nap, they cleaned up and made dinner together, Gideon chopping the vegetables and Harrow stirring them in the pan as they made a stir-fry. She didn’t recall what it tasted like, only the kisses shared as they waited for the rice to finish.

Now it was almost noon, and she was needed at the workplace. If she hurried, she’d be able to meet Gideon for lunch break and then start right after.

Crawling out of bed, Harrow was completely nude, shivering as the cold air hit her body. When she reached the bathroom, she flicked on the artificial light and was horrified at what the mirror reflected back at her. 

Under the harsh lights her formerly alabaster skin was mottled purple and red like a fresh bruise, but  _ everywhere _ . 

‘Well, fuck.’

Numerous hickeys stained her skin from her jaw to her inner thighs, trailing in long lines over her body. She even had a few on her wrists, shallow blood blisters marking her as belonging to Gideon, and only Gideon. Those, and the ones on her neck, would be a bitch to conceal from unwelcome prying eyes. Bile rose in her throat as she thought of the project director, his smarmy, toad-like face contorted in satisfaction when he’d see her, his beady eyes greedily drinking up the hickeys. His mind would doubtlessly be conjuring up some sick fantasy as to how she got those hickeys.

Shoving those thoughts away, Harrow fumbled for a stick of concealer in a drawer under the sink, and attempted to smooth a sizable glob over a hickey right below her jaw. It was futile. The sheer coverage that provided a light facial foundation did nothing to cover the blazing red hickey. Discouraged, she wiped off the makeup with a hand-towel, washed her face, brushed her teeth, flossed, applied mascara and returned to the bedroom to dress. 

Today she chose a black button-up blouse with long sleeves and a tall lace collar, deciding that she  _ might _ be able to pass the obscured hickeys as some variety of a hideous, painful rash.  _ Like anyone would buy that. _

At that thought, she dimly recalled something Gideon said earlier, about her not feeling well, and an idea crept into her head. Perhaps she could pass off the hickeys as some weird rash that was due to a sickness, instead as an allergic reaction. That  _ might  _ work.

_ Nobody would buy that,  _ Harrow decided, crouching down by her dresser to find some suitable pants. Recently her clothing seemed to be getting loose again, hanging on her frame. She made a mental note to take better care of herself in the future so Gideon wouldn’t worry.

As she pulled on a pair of formal slacks, she spied Gideon’s hoodie, a charcoal grey puddle of fabric on the floor by the bed. 

‘What are you doing there?’ Harrow asked the air while she picked up the hoodie, shaking it out. Her first impulse was to fold it and drape it over the back of a kitchen chair when she walked by the table, but then she thought otherwise. 

Quickly pulled it over her head, she swam in the soft material, her fingertips eventually finding the ends of the sleeves.

The hoodie was far too big for her. It was oversized on Gideon even, but what the hell. It was seriously cozy, and it smelled comforting, like Gideon. Harrow let a tiny smile creep over her lips, satisfied and content with herself. And as a bonus, the long sleeves obscured her bruised wrists, short black-painted fingernails barely peeking out.

Walking languidly to the kitchen, she checked her reflection in the hallway mirror. The massive charcoal hoodie perfectly obscured all of Gideon’s little gifts, and as a bonus she was rather adorable. Her black hair was uncombed, but the tousled mess looked like Griddle had just playfully mussed it, so she left it be. Under her eyes were faint dark circles, and her cheeks were dusted with pink. The smile on her lips was small and dreamy, like Griddle had just given her a spontaneous hug, girlish and innocent.

Gideon would be delighted to see her this cute.

Then Harrow pulled herself out of her reverie, fished out a blue insulated lunch bag from a cabinet, and pulled out some pre-prepared tubs of foodstuffs from the fridge. She carefully arranged the plastic containers in the bag; fresh fruit, sliced vegetables and extra hand-made dumplings in case Gideon wanted more. On her way to the door she picked up a couple sparkling waters, the kind in the little green bottle, one for her and one for Griddle.

Hurriedly, she plucked her car keys from the key basket on her way out, locking the door behind her. She hopped into her black SUV, starting the engine. It hummed while Harrow placed the lunch bag and drinks on the passenger seat, making sure they wouldn’t roll around on the way. Then she put the car in  _ drive  _ and made her way to the workplace. 

— — —

Meanwhile in the meeting room, Gideon was a scattered mess. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her back as the vaguely amphibian project director glared in her direction. She had never been great at talking to adults, and her shyness that erupted when she was talking to fucking  _ weird _ adults was not helping. 

For the majority of this meeting, she’d been relying quite heavily on the communication skills possessed by Dulcinea, the fragile but brilliant 21-year old on her team, and Coronabeth, the glowing teenager who looked like she’d rather be modeling instead of lolling around waiting for the meeting to end so she could get back to endlessly scrolling on her social media. As beautiful as Corona was, she was not lacking in people skills, and she was able to convince the smarmy director many times over to give their team the okay. 

Gideon didn’t want to think about how she managed that, but she had an idea that it involved Corona’s tits shoved way too close to that overgrown toad’s bulbous face.

‘... And that’s why this idea holds promise, you see? By infusing the synthan sub-particles to the conductive metals of the battery, we can create a handheld synthan source that can be utilized by not only the necros but the weapons Jeannemarie’s team is developing,’ Dulcinea concluded. 

Although Gideon only understood about a tenth of all the scientific jargon, Dulcinea’s reasoning was sound. It was certainly persuasive. 

The project director leaned forwards on his hands, his elbows propped on the smoked glass tabletop. His shirtsleeves looked ready to burst open from his excessively meaty forearms. He grunted, wiping his shining forehead with a meaty hand.

‘I’ll consider it,’ he said, drawing the words obnoxiously out past the point of being merely painful. ‘ _ Con-sider  _ it.’ 

The malice in his voice dripped wetly down into the small of Gideon’s back, making her squirm in her seat. It was like he thrived on making these meetings as uncomfortable as humanly possible, and then once he reached that threshold, tossing it out the window and cranking the tension up to about 37 on a scale of one to ten. But only to spite the interns, because he wanted to make their lives even more shitty because they were there and their lives apparently weren’t shitty enough already.

Straining silence hung heavily in the air. The team members shot glances at each other, communicating frantically with their eyes. 

_ -What do we do now?  _

_ -I don’t know!  _

_ -Me neither.  _

-You _ think of something, you’re the smart one! _

_ -I already did what I could. _

_ -But it’s not enough! Even that idiot Nav could see that! _

(That irritated glance from Ianthe, Corona’s haggard twin, was clearly a slight towards Gideon’s intelligence. Or rather the lack thereof. It hurt her to be talked about like she was an inanimate object incapable of independent thought. Or maybe like she was a rock, as in the saying  _ dumb as a rock _ .)

_ -Where is the little goth when we need her? _

_ -She’s my  _ girlfriend _ , not a stupid goth!  _ (That was Gideon, who refused to stand by while the others bashed Harrow.)

_ -We don’t need her, she can’t talk to people either! _

_ -This is going nowhere. _

With a final glance from Camilla, ever level-headed and calm, the frantic communication ceased. 

Someone nervously gathered up their papers and tapped them on the table a couple times, aligning them. Dulcinea softly coughed into her elbow, doing nothing to ease the tension.

At last, the director leaned back in his great black leather chair, which groaned under his mass. He crossed his arms over his great fat belly, his bald scalp gleaming with oil under the overhead lights, as one of his goons skittered over. 

‘It seems that the meeting has reached the end time, sir,’ the suited goon said, his words jumbled and tripping over each other to escape his mouth. He was nervous too. It seemed that they all were.

‘Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,’ the director drawled, taking up as much time as he could to speak, implying that he had all the time in the world and the interns were  _ going _ to comply, no exceptions. 

Being treated like that majorly pissed Gideon off, although she fought the urge to show it. If she waved her middle fingers at him as she swaggered out she would get her ass kicked past the moon and then be joined by Harrow, who’d be assumed guilty by association, but damn if it wouldn’t be satisfying. 

‘That’s it!’ He bellowed, raising his doughy arms to shoo the interns out like one would swat away a cloud of gnats. ‘Meeting’s over! Return in  _ exactly _ one hour. Latecomers  _ will not be tolerated. Understood? _ ’ 

Cold sweat completely drenched Gideon’s shirt by this point. That last part was clearly directed towards her, as she had been the one to break the news that Harrow may not come due to a sudden stomach bug. Even though it was technically aimed at Harrow, his threat effectively made Gideon reflexively swallow the lump of fear in her throat.

By that point the others were rising from their places at the table and congregating in their teams, whispering among themselves. Gideon suddenly found herself alone, with Dulcinea discussing some particle theory with another girl and Harrow absent. She felt strangely vulnerable as she strayed near the walls, picking mindlessly at the chipping paint. If she was caught she’d get her ass whupped, but it was better than doing nothing. Idleness was true hell.

As the other people gradually filed out of the room, Gideon let the flow of the crowd carry her along to the hallway. She drifted over to her cubicle a few rooms down, fetched her lunch, sunglasses, and a thermos of hot tea. On her way to the break room, she finally found Harrow, who was carrying a thick stack of papers in the other direction.

‘See you at lunch?’ Gideon called out, notes of hope in her weary voice, cheered by the sight of her lover.

‘Five minutes,’ Harrow said, picking up her pace. It was only as she was hurrying along that Gideon noticed Harrow was wearing her hoodie. It was huge on her, but that was okay. Gideon decided that later she’d tell her girlfriend she could borrow her hoodie whenever she wanted. Harrow deserved that much.

Sliding her sunglasses on her face, Gideon pushed open the solid glass doors, exiting the building. She made her way to a nearby park, her and Harrow’s favorite park, which was only a block away. 

The park was a small grassy area that was bordered by a patch of trees and their university. A pond was located near the trees, which shaded the grass when the day was young. Gideon found a spot in the sun and sat down, crossing her legs and unzipping the bag. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, ao she fished it out to find a text from Harrow.

_ I brought you extra dumplings, Griddle. Thank me later _

Gideon grinned to herself as Harrow trotted over, two green bottles in one hand and more food in the other.  _ Hot damn, she’s cute today,  _ she thought, taking in her tousled hair and bare face and bright black eyes. 

Harrow innocently sat down next to her, so close their shoulders brushed together. 

They then unzipped their lunches, Gideon with fervor and Harrow hesitantly. Pausing for a moment, Harrow gently handed Gideon a bottle of sparkling water before opening her own. Gideon took a deep swig like it was a cold beer instead of carbonated water, inciting a giggle from Harrow that made her heart melt just a little bit more.

‘And how are you doing today, my dearest twilit princess of dead soul magic?’ Gideon asked sappily around a mouthful of fruit.

‘Souls cannot die, Griddle. They either exist or they don’t,’ Harrow said with mock exasperation, evading the question. She was tired, looking thinner than usual, her skin pale, lacking its usual pearly glow.

‘I know. I’m teasing.’

Harrow smiled wanly, listlessly shoving her lunch around with her fork. After a few minutes spent enjoying Gideon’s company and the tranquil sounds of nature but not eating, she held her food over her girlfriend’s lap. ‘Want the rest?’

‘When do I  _ not  _ want the rest?’ Gideon took the plastic tub from Harrow’s hand and scarfed down the contents, seemingly ignorant to how little Harrow ate. 

‘So,’ pausing, Gideon angled her body to Harrow in a no-nonsense maneuver. ‘What’s up with you and my hoodie? No offense, I mean, I’m totally fine with you wearing it, but why today of all days?’

Harrow made a sound in her throat that sounded suspiciously like a purr. ‘No reason… Well, actually… I saw it on the floor and decided to try it on. Now I’m here.’ Leaning in close to Gideon’s ear, she whispered, ‘And it hides all those hickeys.’

Gideon’s face burned with the memory of how she gave Harrow all those hickeys the previous evening. And with Harrow so close, she could practically hear Harrow’s soft murmurs and moans as she’d pleasured her. A wicked grin crept across her face as an idea bloomed in her mind.

‘Want to do it again?’ Gideon said, punctuating her suggestion with a slight undulation of her hips, her heart fluttering when she caught Harrow’s eyes flick down towards her crotch. 

‘Here?’ Harrow’s voice was shaky with disbelief. ‘Out in the open?’

‘Nooooo,’ Gideon paused, screwing up the dessicated remains of her composure. ‘You misunderstand. Let’s do it. In the building. On the fucking meeting table. To spite that mean mutherfucker of a toad. We have extra time, right? Like forty minutes of extra time?  _ Pleeeaaase _ ?’

This time it was Harrow’s turn for her face to flush. She brought a tiny hand up to her lips, biting a short fingernail. She didn’t realize how tantalizing the little gesture was in Gideon’s eyes. ‘Yes, we  _ do _ have extra time… But you understand what will happen if we are caught - instant fire on the spot.’

Gideon’s earnest lopsided grin made her resemble a dog patiently waiting for a treat, effectively guilt-tripping Harrow into submission. It didn’t slip or falter in the slightest in response to Harrow’s warning. Griddle was being stupid again, but it was that endearing stupid that came along with being hopelessly in love. Harrow pressed on. 

‘Gideon, you can’t be serious.’

‘Yes, I am wholly and entirely serious,’ Gideon said, deliberately, determined to get laid. Even if it was in a spectacularly stupid manner in an even more spectacularly stupid location.

Harrow’s desire began to stir, the pulsing ache between her thighs blooming through her body. She welcomed the sensation, and the reality it grounded her to. One of her hands drifted down towards the waistband of her slacks, but she caught it and held one of Gideon’s instead. 

‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; Griddle; you’re an idiot.’ 

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against Gideon’s, a brief kiss shared between them, their smiles touching before Harrow pulled away.

‘If you’re so inclined,’ Harrow declared, rising with the bags gathered in her arms, ‘Let’s go.’

Gideon chased after Harrow as the skinny necromancer wove her way back to the office. She deposited the lunch bags at their cubicle, and then stopped dead in the hall right outside. 

‘You’re sure about this?’ Harrow said, pinning Gideon with her gaze. Squirming, Gideon nodded, opening her mouth slightly to say something. 

Then Ianthe turned the corner, breezing by like a withered shadow of her twin sister. ‘Hello there, you two,’ she said, her lips twisted up in malice, suggesting  _ you two  _ as much more than a simple pair of friends, and rubbing it in their faces just to prove she could. 

Ianthe had the hots for Harrow, and it showed. She also had a suspicion that the two were fucking that she had no intention to hide. One look at her and Gideon could tell that she’d love nothing more than to fingerbang Harrow right in front of her eyes as Gideon watched, wide-eyed and helpless and  _ restrained _ . Bonus points if Harrow was unwilling and crying out for Griddle to help her while Ianthe forced her insubstantial thighs open, long pale fingers ravaging her delicate flesh.

‘I’m sure,’ Gideon said, her tone all business, watching Ianthe slink past them. As soon as Ianthe turned her back, Gideon flipped the bird in her direction, muttering venomously under her breath, ‘Bitch.’

Right then Harrow took Gideon’s hand and they made a few twists through the halls, eventually finding their way in front of the side doors of the dark meeting room.

‘Wait here. I need to go do something,’ Harrow commanded, immediately bolting off, leaving Gideon no choice but to wait for her. 

While Harrow was off doing God knows what, Gideon turned and peered through the rectangular windows on the doors to the meeting room beyond. The room was almost completely dark, lit only by strips of dark blue and purple LEDs. The smoked glass of the table was liquid and metallic, reflecting swirls in the jeweled tones of the LEDs. The cream walls and high ceiling took on deep charcoal hues in the absence of light. Overall the empty meeting room’s atmosphere was sultry; cold and alluring in the absence of other people; in the absence of obligatory formality. 

Quick footfalls snapped Gideon out of her reverie. Harrow returned, this time with a cardboard box nearly as big as she was in her arms. Her face was flushed from running. 

‘Oh Harrow, you poor thing, I’ll take that,’ Gideon said, shocked, as she plucked the box out of Harrow’s arms. The box was heavy, even for her. ‘Who even made you carry that all the way over here!?’

‘I did.’ Harrow deadpanned, pale face expressionless. ‘Those are some of the battery prototypes. Bringing them here now saves time later. Gives us an alibi if people wonder what we’re doing in the meeting room on break.’

Gideon couldn’t argue with that, so she pushed open the door to the empty meeting room. ‘I’ll put these here,’ she said, slightly dubiously, as she set them on the washed-out carpet near her and Harrow’s chairs.

‘So how  _ are  _ we going to do this?’ Gideon said, sitting on the edge of the table where the director would usually sit. Her back was to the main doors; and by relation; the shaded windows.

‘ _ Like this _ ,’ Harrow said, a switch flipping inside her, turning her from innocent, docile, cute girl to dominant, alluring, sultry young woman. Pushing the director’s plush chair back, she shoved up the hoodie sleeves and spread Gideon’s thighs, running her hands up her inner thighs from her knees to deftly undo the buttons on her slacks.

One of her hands was suddenly up Gideon’s shirt, groping her breast, probing at her stiffening nipple. Harrow kissed her viciously, biting at her lips, pitch black eyes hungering with a fevered intensity. Rising slightly over the table, Harrow maneuvered herself so she was on top, her short black hair framing her face and burning dark eyes. Those eyes drew Gideon in, darker than shadow, blacker than a black hole, but with electric blue reflections dancing in the stark whites. Harrow was up between Gideon’s muscled thighs, asserting dominance with her body language.

A pale, nimble hand reached down into Gideon’s slacks, sliding aside the crotch of her boyshorts, stroking her soft curls and into the waiting flesh underneath. Effortlessly finding her pulsing clit and working her fingertips across it, Harrow then pressed her thumb down hard on Gideon, sliding her other fingers down, closer to her wet entrance. She wasted no time in turning her lover on, and clitoral stimulation was what made Gideon tick.

Their lips locked together, urgent in desire. Harrow was all Gideon knew in that moment, her lips, tasting of rich traces of blood, her hands, locked in her hair, trapping her close, her intoxicating smell, sweat and ink and old blood all mixed together. 

Harrow’s fingers danced around her entrance, pushing gently on Gideon’s soft inner lips, eliciting an ecstatic moan. A deep chuckle rumbled from Harrow’s throat as her lips curled into a possessive grin on Gideon’s, pleased to be the one giving. 

Wetness leaked from her, quickly coating Harrow’s probing fingers as they teased her entrance, barely entering, tracing her labia and the delicate, sensitive filament surrounding her opening. Pulling her fingers away, Harrow returned to stroke Gideon’s clit before returning back down again, languidly sliding her fingers in and out. Gideon yearned for complete penetration, for Harrow’s nimble fingers inside her all the way so her sharp knuckles rubbed against her lower lips, for her lover to satisfy her deep, aching desire. To Gideon, Harrow’s fingers up inside her, in a place like this, was the pinnacle of her trust, of her acceptance, her willingness to give her pleasure. She let Harrow take control, confident that she could handle anything the world threw at them.

Edging closer to climax, Gideon grew impatient, shoving a hand roughly on top of Harrow’s, forcing her lover’s stiff fingers up inside her. Shock coursed through her body at the sudden sharp pressure on her clit, Harrow’s thumb still in place, knocking their teeth together as her back arched in response. After that Harrow broke away to kiss her cheekbone, not wanting to risk a chipped tooth.

The shock did not cause Gideon to move her hard, so she guided Harrow down, and she then took the hint and slid three slender fingers in and out of Gideon in rapid-fire, machine gun fast thrusts, lubricated by her slick fluids. Harrow’s palm rubbing against her clit was exquisite torture, and she curled her hips into Harrow’s hand, fighting the urge to writhe in pleasure. 

Vicious kisses on her jaw and neck sent shivers coursing through Gideon’s body, down to her fingertips and burning inner thighs. Now Harrow’s other hand was entwined in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her vulnerable throat to the adrenaline-emboldened girl who held her, exposed, in her hands. 

The world became a blur of dark hair and black eyes and blue and purple swirls reflecting on the marbled ceiling as sensation overwhelmed her, fucking up her senses until they all were one overwhelming feed of pleasure; touch, taste, sound, smell. Harrow worked Gideon’s clit ruthlessly, and Gideon’s hips squirmed under her lover’s touch, her inner walls clenching onto Harrow’s fingers. Her breathing was raw, ragged and shallow in between kisses. She could barely even recognize where Harrow kissed, all of her lover’s touches and caresses bleeding together. 

She was intoxicated. 

Then footfalls started outside the room, lightning fast and hurried. Two people at least. Both girls stilled their bodies, breathing heavily, silently. Unfortunately for Gideon, Harrow’s fingers were still partially in her, unmoving, unforgiving.  _ Harrow, you fucking tease,  _ she thought feverishly, her body aching to finish, to release, her chest violently heaving. 

The men outside the door slowed, and for a tense moment paused, talking among themselves. Gideon watched Harrow’s face contort into a cocktail of rage and hatred, the very picture of  _ fuck those entitled bastards.  _

Seconds passed like hours, each one stretching out an eternity. Gideon’s clit throbbed, begging for Harrow’s thumb to move again, and panic shot through her veins. The thundering of her heartbeat in her ears drowned out the men’s hushed words. 

Harrow’s fingers flexed invisibly, tightening their hold on Gideon’s aching inner walls. She pushed her thumb upwards agonizingly slow, stroking Gideon’s clit while simultaneously demanding her silence with a shaking hand clasped over her mouth, pinning her under her iron gaze. Harrow could be a formidable lover, as she enjoyed making Gideon squirm, her muscled body undulating and twisting and throbbing and arching under her hands. She liked to make Gideon feel vulnerable; exposed; emotionally and physically, and she was succeeding. 

Then the men returned back the way they came, down the hall and quickly out of earshot, but that was also probably due to their adrenaline-fueled heartbeat roaring in their ears. Harrow started to ravage Gideon’s core with renewed fervor, her vicious hand defining fingerbanging while she kissed her lover’s exposed throat. The two differing sensations were intoxicating, nudging Gideon past the point of rationality. 

‘Now you come, we don’t have much extra time,’ Harrow commanded, leaning into the palm pressed over Gideon’s pulsing clit, finally pushing her over the edge. With a muffled cry Gideon came, her fluids spilling over the table and the director’s annoyingly plush chair. Ever thinking ahead, Harrow had already swerved to the side, out of the line of fire. She held Gideon close in her arms while her orgasm faded, gradually, her presence a reassurance that everything would be fine. 

But they needed to hurry. Gideon’s hot fluids dripped down into the worn carpet from the tabletop as Harrow gently kissed her, reveling in the intimacy of the moment while it lasted. Withdrawing her fingers from her lover’s core, Harrow let them rest on Gideon’s labia and ginger curls for a little bit before pulling away completely.

Gideon was crying, not full-out sobbing, but whimpering softly into Harrow’s blouse, a tear trailing down her face from the exertion of it all. She was overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasm, reduced to a shuddering mess. Her brain still wasn’t working. In that moment, she was completely exposed, guard down, her body fragile in Harrow’s arms.

‘Gideon...’ Harrow sweetly murmured, re-buttoning her lover’s slacks with one hand, stroking Gideon’s face with the other. 

‘My beloved.’ She kissed her lover’s cheekbone once more before gracefully sliding off the table, pulling a dazed Gideon along by the hand. ‘Come now, we need to clean up a bit before break is officially over. I’ll help. It will only take two minutes.’ 

Harrow pushed open the side door, slipping out, Gideon close behind her. While they walked to the bathroom, hand in hand, they were fortunate enough to not run into anyone, especially Ianthe. 

When they arrived, Gideon started to cry again, collapsing in on herself. Harrow’s heart wrenched, aching at the sight.  _ Why is Griddle acting this way? This is not normal.  _ She washed her hands of the sticky residuals of Gideon’s fluids, and then dabbed away her girlfriend’s tears with a clean white hand-towel, watching her red lashes flicker over troubled amber eyes. She kept wondering in the back of her mind why Gideon was acting so strange, trying to find the catalyst, the exact reason, her thoughts a whirlwind that looped repeatedly, no end in sight because it was not there. Yes, she knew Griddle was dumb and barely understood even the basics of synthan, but she was normally easygoing around the group, her raunchy humor usually welcome and rather relaxing. 

It just didn’t add up. 

Perhaps it was that awful director. His amphibian appearance and demeanor that demanded you to grovel and kiss his shoes was a bit much, even for the socially gifted interns. 

Whatever the cause, for now, though, Harrow just cooed and whispered sweet wordless reassurances, holding Gideon’s hands, until her golden eyes cleared and she gradually stopped shaking. 

‘Are you okay?’ Harrow implored, as Gideon turned to the mirror and started fixing her flame-red hair back to its usual in your face coolness, her motions clumsy from residual emotion. Harrow had already pulled the hoodie sleeve back down over her hands, innocently leaning into Gideon’s side. The internal switch had flipped, and now she was back to reserved, gentle, sweet-but-only-with-Griddle Harrow. Then she pulled a stick of mascara out from somewhere, probably the hoodie pocket, and touched up the smudged corners. 

‘Yeah, I can form coherent thoughts now. No need to worry. I’ll be fine,’ Gideon said, examining her handiwork in the mirror before pausing, taking in a sharp inhale, and continuing. ‘You’re kind of savage today.’ 

‘Really?’ Feigning innocence, Harrow preened at her hair, hoodie sleeves low on her hands, faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her preening was a convincing little motion, but Gideon saw right through it. 

‘Come on, Harrow,’ Gideon said, sighing as she exited the bathroom, trusting Harrow to follow along. ‘We need to get back to the group.’

— — —

She pushed the door open, allowing it to swing shut so Harrow didn have to re-open it. The two girls wandered through the halls to a planning room, where the other interns sat gathered around a large, flat marble table. As they entered they noticed that the table was almost entirely covered in papers; scattered blueprints, sets of notes on lined paper, thick files bulging with flimsy, pages and pages of synthangergic theorems combined with advanced particle theory. The harsh overhead lighting washed out the faces staring up expectantly at them. 

Harrow and Gideon took their seats, two on the side of the table right next to each other, where the last square foot of remaining table space was. Gideon languidly leaned back, attempting to prop her booted feet on the table before Harrow shoved them down in favor of using the precious space for more papers, spreading them out in front of her.

Harrow secretly considered herself extremely fortunate that both she and Griddle showed no signs of their secret tryst in the darkened meeting room. 

‘Now that the two lovebirds are here,’ Ianthe said, batting colorless lashes, her pale face blanched and faintly disturbing in the stark light, ‘We can finalize and start to refine our synthan-weapon concepts. Funny how we couldn’t start until they both arrived, but only one of them has a brain that functions well enough to be necessary.’ 

(Maybe they did show signs. Gideon didn’t know anymore. Or maybe it was Ianthe being Ianthe and thus a minor asshole, which was more likely.)

The other group members nodded in assent. Harrow sat straight as a rod, not assenting or dissenting, just watching intensely while old diagrams were cross-referenced and new diagrams were created. Occasionally she would provide an opinion or give input, usually backing them up with thin sheets of hastily-scribbled equations. Gideon watched from her chair, which she had pushed back from the table, putting a little bit of distance between her and the smart people and all their smart people things. She was just there for moral support and to occasionally swing a rapier or shoot a target or tase a volunteer. Mostly, however, she just lounged and hung out near Harrow, or when Harrow wasn’t in the direct vicinity, Dulcinea. 

Dulcinea Septimus was an unusual young woman, sickly thin and pasty, but pasty from lingering illness instead of unfortunate genetics, such as Ianthe possessed. She was fragile of health, wheelchair-bound on most days. but she was sharp as a razor with a personality just as bright. She never let her weaknesses get to her, or at least what Gideon could see, and she never seemed to be troubled to be the girl in the wheelchair. Dulcinea Septimus was just a girl who needed a wheelchair, but it suited her, as it had a flat writing surface mounted over her legs, allowing for seamless thought-to-written-equation transference. At any time she needed to she could whip out a sheet of paper and scribble down whatever needed scribbling down, eliminating the little scramble most of the others did to find a flat surface to write on first. And what really gave her that brilliance was her perennial good nature, always smiling, cheery, and optimistic. When Gideon first met her on their first day, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little fascinated by the young woman. Although the infatuation quickly faded as Harrow asserted that Gideon was  _ exclusively _ hers _ ,  _ and _ No I will not share her with you Miss Septimus _ , Gideon was still in awe of her intellect. The intelligence of Harrow and that of Dulcinea were different; Dulcinea studied people as well as thanergenic particle transfusion. If you were in the same room as her, it was a given that she’d be watching; not maliciously or with any negative intent, only with a quiet fascination. She liked knowing what made people tick; their hopes, their dreams, the memories that made them who they are, their pasts, their life stories. And when she knew all that she could manipulate you into willingly doing whatever she wanted, and you’d  _ want _ to do it, and you’d only realize it after she (genuinely) thanked you for your good work. This unsettled Gideon when she was first enlightened by Harrow, but as she got to know Dulcinea, all doubts vanished into oblivion. Dulcinea never wanted to hurt anyone she cared about, so Gideon trusted her. 

Harrow, on the other hand, didn’t hold any particular fondness for the young woman, but she wasn’t openly hostile either. Harrow was intelligent in the calculating, intense manner of a gifted thanergenic manipulator, with most of her mental capacity devoted to her studies. However, she couldn’t handle people for the life of her. She was stiff and formal with nearly everyone except for Gideon, her words less words but lines, memorized and recited as appropriate for the occasion. Her cold and impersonal demeanor left many disgruntled, unsure if they’d unknowingly pissed her off, or if she was just unfriendly, or if she hated everyone for no good reason, or if she was seriously lacking in people skills. Gideon had basically known her since they were born so she never had to break open her bone walls to peer at the girl inside, as those walls practically enclosed her too.

She recalled something Harrow once said in the deep of night, after she had a strange episode that Gideon still wasn’t entirely convinced was a nightmare. 

_ ‘You are my only friend,’ Harrow whispered, her voice thin and wavering from fear in something only she could see. ‘I am undone without you.’ Her body was curled in Gideon’s lap, her gauzy nightgown crumpled up around her waist, her sharp bones protruding into Gideon’s arms, her hands grasped on Gideon’s nightshirt like a drowning girl to a lifeline.  _

Gideon could still feel residual echoes of Harrowhark’s shaking arms wrapping around her body, could still hear the faint traces of frantic, desperate panic in her voice. The fear creeped back into her veins, the same as that night, as she recalled the incident, her girlfriend’s fear infecting her, but for a different reason. Seeing Harrow so vulnerable and lost, clinging onto Gideon as a last resort to stay in reality scared the shit out of her. She didn’t like to think about what ‘ _ I am undone without you’ _ implied, but she knew it couldn’t be anything good. At first she thought it was nothing, a melodramatic, tragic declaration of love in classic Harrow style, even though that made no sense in the context of when they were spoken, and what happened before. As much as she wanted to let them vanish in the blur of all her Harrow-memories, the words did not let Gideon forget about them so easily. They shot their roots deep into the recesses of her brain and took hold, refusing to let go. 

‘ _ I am undone’  _ could mean anything. Yet, after that night, after Harrow screamed like she was being violently dismembered by invisible demons for hours, despite being safe in Gideon’s embrace, the words would not leave her be. 

They could mean absolutely anything. 

They could mean only one thing. 

Gideon hated it when Harrow lost her way, and it happened but infrequently, but that did not change the fact that it still happened. Something wasn’t right in her mind. That frightened Gideon, when combined with the high-stakes competition of this program, that asshole director, and Ianthe’s unwelcome advances. All the compounded stress could be what broke her completely. 

And then there was the problem of the pallid Tridendarius twin. 

She’d caught Ianthe creeping on Harrow when Harrow wasn’t paying attention, staring like a starved lion at a baby animal who didn’t know it was supposed to be afraid. Ianthe would touch Harrow, touch her in the way that was intended to make Gideon’s blood boil in her veins, running fingers over the curve of Harrow’s lower back and ass and once briefly on her crotch when she was temporarily distracted by a neon green sports car. At the time the interns were chilling outside a bakery, hands loaded with teas and coffees and pastries. The motion was quick, and if Gideon blinked she was sure she would’ve missed it, but Harrow’s resulting shocked cry confirmed her suspicions. Harrow had flinched into herself, arms wrapped around her body, hot tea forgotten, turning to press herself into Gideon’s arms for protection. Coronabeth had also been shocked, but at Harrow’s seemingly random outburst rather than her twin’s insolent behavior. Ianthe seemed far too pleased with herself, smirking at Gideon after Corona focused back on her phone, resuming her infinite Instagram scrolling. Ianthe had effectively said  _ yes, I did just grope your girlfriend, right in front of you, because I’d really like to be the one she turns to instead of your stupid ass, _ but all in one smirk and subtle narrowing of unsettling heterochromatic eyes. When Gideon later confronted Ianthe about it, the washed-out girl rampantly denied all claims, and Corona happened to be within earshot so she jumped to her sister’s defense as well, making Gideon feel like an idiot for not thinking far enough ahead to avoid Corona’s interference. In the end Gideon felt like an even bigger idiot because the accusation not only got her nowhere but it made Ianthe even more determined to steal Harrow away from her. Which was very, very bad. 

Gideon made a mental note to keep tabs on Ianthe at all times, always making sure she knew where that pervert was lurking. She refused to feel like a failure again, as she felt like she deserved to yeet herself off the top of a skyscraper after she failed to protect Harrow. Harrow deserved nothing but the best, and if not for Gideon’s ignorance, the whole unfortunate scenario would have never played out. 

Or maybe it was because of that neon green fucking lamborghini. It had grabbed Gideon’s attention too, now she was looking back, an obnoxious distraction at the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. Fucking lamborgreenies. 

‘Griddle? You in there?’

Harrow’s exhilarated voice shook Gideon out of her thoughts and back into reality. Considering the reality was Harrow safe in a chair and Ianthe across the table, reality was a good place to be. 

‘What is it, sugarlips?’

(‘Don’t call me that here!’ Harrow hissed indignantly.)

‘Take two. What is it, Nonagesimus?’

‘I need you to test something with me. See this battery?’ She held up a rectangular prism of solid metal, with tapered appendages at both ends that suspiciously resembled plug-prongs. 

‘Would you please indulge me as to what the hell that is first?’

‘Griddle, cut the crap and follow me,’ Harrow abruptly jumped out of her chair, sending it clattering back a few inches, and tugged Gideon along by the wrist. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll return shortly. Don’t decide on anything too important while I’m away, please,’ she told the others. 

Once they were well away from the group, Harrow launched into lecturing mode, her brows set in their familiar furrow. 

‘Griddle! You know better than that! You just made us look  _ infinitely  _ worse in front of our competitors!  _ What the flying fuck were you thinking?!  _ We have exactly zero time for this nonsense!’ She paused to greedily suck in a lungful of air, exhale, and continue. ‘And you are  _ absolutely forbidden  _ from calling me  _ anything  _ other than my name around people who could take it to mean something else! We are here to develop technology and possibly do some networking,  _ not _ make enemies out of anyone who doesn’t like the fact that we’re, ah,  _ involved.  _ Do you understand?’

Ashamed, Gideon’s eyes fell to her boots as she mumbled, ‘I understand. I’m sorry, my lovely gloom mistress.’

She could feel Harrow rolling her eyes without even needing to see it. ‘I love you too, Griddle. Now cheer up, I’m giving you a chance to swing a sword around.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, I didn’t just drag your sorry ass out of there to lecture you. I do have reasons for why I do what I do,’ Harrow said, making her way for the glass doors that opened to the concrete patio outside - the weapon-testing grounds.

Once they were outside, Harrow fiddled with the battery, attempting to do something with it before setting it in the hilt of a rapier. Nobody used rapiers anymore in war zones, but they were light and convent for beta testing of synthetic thanergy transferral. Both the necromancer and, if available, a stronger partner could swing around a rapier for a few minutes. 

So Harrow proceeded to hand over the retrofitted sword, which clocked in at a little over a kilogram with the battery mounted. Not too heavy for a longer sword, but a bit hefty for a rapier. 

‘Go on. Swing it around. Tell me what you think,’ Harrow said, crossing her arms over the front of her body, leaning back against the wall of the building, well out of the danger zone in case of an accident. 

Gideon held out the modified weapon, noting the shift in balance caused by the battery. It was heavier towards the pommel, the solid battery inset within a chamber in the grip. She took her stance, holding the blade out, and then took a few practice swings. The tip was lighter than it should be, the weight distribution offset by the battery. As Gideon danced in the familiar footwork, the lighter blade consistently threw off her coordination. 

‘The balance is off. The hilt is too heavy. For this to be usable the blade would need to be heavier,’ Gideon said, voice raised so Harrow could hear clearly huddled all the way by the doors. Now Gideon inspected the hilt, blade pointed down, peering at the junction between dull battery metal and the aluminum handle. The battery was solidly fixed within the cage, and was covered by a sheet of insulation, presumably to keep whatever the synthan stuff was out of the wielder's system. 

‘Alright. Pause,’ Walking forwards, Harrow then grabbed the rapier’s crossbar, adjusted the battery and then drew out some bone dust from her pants pocket. With one hand on Gideon’s forearm, she spread the dust on the concrete, concentrated, and a handful of skeletons rose from what seemed like nothing. Then, tentatively, she removed her hand and let it hover over Gideon’s skin, maintaining the skeletons with the synthetic thanergy. 

‘It seems like the synthan can be utilized once it’s in the weapon, almost like the weapon is a transmitter…. A broadcaster,’ Harrow mused, her mind on her skeletons. A trail of blood was leaking down from one nostril, betraying her exertion, and her eyes were glazed over, staring out into empty space. She held the constructs there for a few minutes, the skeletons looking around and shifting in seemingly pre-programmed idling motions. 

Then, suddenly, the skeletons collapsed, their bones immediately powdering as they shattered on the concrete. Disgruntled, Harrow gathered up the bone dust in an oblong lump, picked it up, and placed it back in her pocket. 

‘That’s what I needed,’ Harrow announced. Her mind was starting to process the new input, as indicated by the particular silence that fell between them. Gideon handed over the rapier for Harrow to extract the battery, which she mindlessly did. 

After that they went back to the planning room, taking their seats. Harrow wasted no time in jotting down notes as soon as she could find a blank piece of paper. As usual, Gideon reclined, but she paid more attention to the discord this time around. She was the one swinging the sword; so if the others needed input she’d better not be off somewhere in her mind. That didn’t come to pass, however, so she ended up zoning out anyway, Harrow’s low soothing mutterings relaxing her. Gideon began to ponder other things; mainly the other people there. They were all females in college or high-school, and  _ most _ of them were reasonably intelligent. All of the groups had at least one necromancer. And the necromancers were usually the smart ones. 

‘What do you think of this?’ Harrow leaned over, tapping Gideon’s shoulder. She held out a paper with a blueprint on it, one that resembled a typical American M-16 but with an extra magazine tacked onto the side. Wait. Not a magazine. A synthan battery. Gideon brought the blueprint closer to her face, studying the suggestion. The idea made no sense. Why would you put a synthan battery on an  _ assault rifle _ ? Of all weapons, or anything, just carrying a battery on your person appeared to be the best idea, as far as Gideon could tell. And her necromancer's face was clean. At some point Harrow’d swabbed off the blood leaking from her nose, and thankfully not with the sweatshirt, as evidenced by the merciful lack of bloodstains. 

‘It’s a bit wacky,’ Gideon admitted. ‘Why put a battery on a rifle? Wouldn’t a battery bracelet or something be better?’

‘A piece of synthan-infused metal with the battery’s mass barely lets me keep a handful of skeletons up for ten minutes. And that’s for me. On the battlefield that would be like blindly shooting Nerf darts at the enemy in hope you’ll hit an eye. It’s near useless. A battery with the mass of a bracelet would be dead weight,’ Harrow said, explaining in her usual deadpan manner. 

_ I really know nothing about how this synthan charged metal stuff works, _ Gideon hopelessly realized. 

‘The idea is the synthan would flow into the conductive inner chamber materials of the rifle, infusing the bullets with synthan. It’s speculated that by allowing the synthan to make contact with normal thanergy the synthan particles will get excited-and send out stronger pulses to the necromancers.’

‘I’m assuming if you want to test that second part, we can get Corona if she’s being especially annoying at the moment,’ Gideon said, provoking that familiar  _ Griddle no _ glare from Harrow. 

‘I will allow no harm to come to my sister,’ Ianthe interjected, ‘If you think you can do that, I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken.’

‘My apologies, Tridentarius. Please respectfully disregard anything that comes from Griddle’s mouth from here on out.’ Harrow said icily. 

‘Harrow!’ Gideon pouted, slumping down in her chair. ‘No fair.’

That was the end of that conversation. Returning to the discussion, Harrow laid out plans for a synthan rifle, because although cool, nobody used swords in combat anymore, and what if there were synthan  _ landmines _ ? Any possibility that could be explored would be, not left to collect metaphorical dust. 

Gideon would’ve given anything for a comic book at that point, or anything to relieve her of her persistent boredom. She didn’t like being a useless lump, which she kept getting reduced to, even though she was kind of asking for it. 

Minutes crawled by, one after another. Gideon passed the time by watching the group members discuss, shooting petty dirty looks at Ianthe because she could, and making sad eyes at Harrow when she blessed Griddle with her beautiful gaze. Or maybe Harrow was just especially beautiful today. She would always be beautiful to Gideon, her leanness and angles and absence of typical womanly curves — pure perfection in her eyes, simply because she's Harrow. 

After an hour of debate and notations and edits and more debating passed by, Harrowhark rose, slowly; languidly, as if she was rising from a body of water. The motion slightly piqued Gideon’s interest, pulling her out of the little mental scenario she was entertaining of running Corona through with a longsword too big to be practical, but not too big to be uncool. 

‘I need a break,’ Harrow sighed, inclining her head towards Gideon. ‘Want to come with?’

Startled, Gideon was suddenly absorbed into a world of just her and Harrow, the others in the room vanishing into a vacuum. Harrow stretched, back arched, her arms extended over her head, staring expectantly through heavy lashes. The motion was alluring, captivating in her effortlessness. She then turned and made her way to the door, leaving her papers on the table, and demanding Gideon to follow with her silence. 

As she let the door swing closed, Gideon followed, picking up her pace to meet Harrow in the hallway. 

‘Where are you going?’ She asked, trailing half a step behind her necromancer.

‘Bathroom,’ Harrow said. The word was barely more than a whisper, intended for Gideon’s ears only. ‘The one nobody uses anymore.’

Upon closer inspection, Harrow’s eyes had glazed over, probably from exhaustion or low blood sugar. She didn’t eat much of her lunch, which wasn’t healthy. Or productive. Underfueled brains were slow brains; brains prone to small mistakes and stupid errors that cause too much damage and could easily be prevented. 

The sepia lights automatically flickered to life as they entered the unused bathroom. A fine layer of dust coated the room, irritating Gideon’s sinuses as it was disturbed by the shift in air currents. The walls were a mottled tan and black stone, polished smooth. Thankfully, there were no windows here. 

‘Harrow. Talk to me,’ Gideon said. Harrow sat on the counter of the sink, swinging a foot absently like a child years younger. Her dull downcast eyes were no longer alluring, but worrying. ‘What’s going on, sugarlips?’ 

Gideon tucked herself around the wall between her and the door, taking Harrow’s face in her hands, shielding her from the outside world, creating what she hoped was a little intimacy. She was slightly aware of her reflection mirroring her motions behind Harrow’s thin form. Minute mineral deposits spotted the lower inches of the mirror, confirming Gideon’s low suspicions that the janitors in this place were incompitent idiots who were paid for loitering and occasionally swabbing at things instead of actually cleaning the place. 

Harrow gently wrapped her arms around Gideon’s neck, bringing her body closer, spreading her legs to lure Gideon in and pressing her face into her lover’s breasts. Relieved, Gideon hugged her back, inhaling the faint ink and blood scent of her hair. She rubbed circles over Harrow’s back, over her protruding shoulder blades, her fingers catching on the little spine bones even through the thick sweatshirt. 

‘Come on. We don’t have all day here,’ Gideon said, a little impatient, though the real meaning of her words was in her comforting tone. 

Harrow shivered in her embrace. And not from the growing cold. Gideon’s body responded eagerly, effortlessly recognizing the physical reactions of Harrow’s intentions. Harrow wanted to fuck her, right then and there. 

A wetness began to grow slick in Gideon’s crotch, followed by her clit pulsing, brilliantly aching, yearning to be touched. 

Just as anticipated, Harrow pulled her thin arms down, letting them glide over Gideon’s tight back muscles, drifting over the curves of her hips. Her nimble fingers reached down towards the buttons on Gideon’s slacks, prompting a surge of excitement to shoot up from between her thighs. The electrifying sensation repeated as Harrow pushed up a sleeve and started to caress the soft patch of ginger curls right under her waistband. 

This was so not a good idea. In her head, Gideon’s mind screamed at her,  _ make Harrow stop, you were already nearly caught once, this is a really fucking  _ bad _ idea!  _

But the part of her that wanted Harrow’s fingers up inside of her promptly shut the voice of reason right up. 

Gideon did nothing to stop her lover, some instinctual part of her brain interrupting the signals to form the words  _ later, when we’re alone at home _ . This was a terribly bad idea, but her body was ready, her chest aching for Harrow out of concern and love. She moaned softly as she let Harrow fully push a hand under her clothes, two clever fingers finding her clit and working in circles over the nerve endings. This time, Gideon did not fight to keep her hips still as they buckled and undulated, teasing her clit over Harrow’s fingertips. 

Harrow had a skinny arm around her waist, trapping her close, that unexpected strength in her insubstantial body now on full display.

‘You’re still wet,’ Harrow said, distantly, as if she was reporting the events as they happened in a dream. Gideon didn’t respond, her vocal cords only capable of blissful, minute cries. In another time she might’ve been embarrassed to have anyone hear those sorts of sounds, the kinds that only happened in her most vulnerable moments, but this was only her and Harrow. 

And Harrow deserved  _ everything _ .

Gradually, Harrow probed deeper, her fingers exploring Gideon’s entrance, stroking the tender flesh of her inner labia, slick from her fluids. Gideon’s eyes closed, her arms tensing around Harrow’s shoulders, her back arching to invite her lover in a little more. She figured Harrow had noticed, as she then slowly penetrated her, two long fingers at first, sliding them in gently, and then a third, effortlessly. Her fluids had already soaked Harrow’s hand and were beginning to drip onto her clothing, the telltale wet spots warm on her inner thighs.

The sensation was soothing as Harrow rubbed Gideon’s pulsing clit with the heel of her palm. Excited, Gideon’s taut body responded eagerly, clenching onto Harrow’s fingers, her heartbeat rising and her face warm. Their bodies were close, limbs cradled around the other, Harrow firmly holding Gideon in place as she twisted and writhed. Harrow had the metacarpal of her thumb on Gideon’s clit now; consistent pressure, exactly as she liked it, as Harrow caressed her inside, probing deeper for the patch of spongy tissue on the top. 

Then Harrow found the spot, deliberately stimulating it with her fingertips. She was inside Gideon up to the knuckle where finger met hand, and Gideon’s near-silent whimpers were all she needed to know what to do next. 

Gideon cried out as she Harrow slid her thin fingers in and out, rubbing the side of her hand against her clit, savoring Gideon’s aroused motions, flexible hips grinding against her hand. If Harrow continued, Gideon would climax yet again, her fluids releasing with the buildup of tension. 

But that was not going to happen now. Cleanup of fluids required time and patience; time which they did not have. 

Rising up on her toes, she kissed Griddle on the corner of her lips, finally sliding out from inside of her. Harrow let her fingertips linger as they caressed Gideon’s clit one last time before pulling them away entirely.

‘I think you needed that,’ Harrow said, observant, her voice now clearer, more present. She was real again. Distracting Gideon with another kiss, Harrow redid her lover’s slacks with her clean hand, returning to stroking her clit through the layers of fabric after the buttons were closed. 

‘Always so horny,’ Harrow said playfully, then cupping Gideon’s smooth cheek, black eyes gazing into twin pools of gold. ‘Now we have to go back, beloved. Can’t have the others getting any more weird ideas as to what our  _ breaks  _ and  _ little talks  _ actually are.’

‘You can say that again,’ Gideon agreed, a bit self-conscious. She stumbled back a step, running her hands over her clothes, smoothing away any telltale crumples. ‘They ship us hard enough already.’ 

(....This was probably not true, but she could at least wish.)

‘I highly doubt that. Ianthe in particular seems to want to eat me alive half the time.’ Harrow said, deftly washing her hands.

‘And the other half?’ Gideon said expectantly, urging her to continue.

‘Oh, she probably wishes she’s the one who gets to fuck me at the end of the week instead of you. She’s jealous as all hell.’

Hot damn. Harrow really was perceptive of the others, even if she didn’t immediately show it. Apprehensive, Gideon loitered closer to the plastic stalls, pressing open the hinged door panels, watching them swing open to distract herself. It wasn’t working. 

‘She just seems annoying to me. With the hots for you, that asshole attitude, no self-restraint and all that,’ she said dejectedly as Harrow started to leave.

‘You owe me one,’ Harrow said, a few minutes later, changing the topic as they started to return to the planning room. 

Laughing, Gideon shot back, ‘Actually, I think you owe you  _ two _ , even though I didn’t climax that second time.’

‘True,’ Harrow said with mock introspection. ‘I don’t like the implication of what the second time will be though.’

‘I’ll just tease you then. Look, my tits, out for your viewing pleasure! Look, my washboard abs, for my one and only,’ Gideon said brashly, her voice rising, echoing down the hall. ‘You can look but you can’t touch.’

‘You did  _ not _ just say,  _ Look, my tits out, for your viewing pleasure _ to everyone within earshot. Quiet down, Nav. People listen,’ Harrow said, falling back into professional-Harrow mode. 

‘You have my sincerest apologies, my twilit princess.’

‘Griddle….’ Harrow said, narrowing her eyes in an affectionate and exasperated  _ Don’t try anything funny  _ motion. ‘Just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open around the others and you’ll be fine.’

‘If you say so.’

After that they ducked back into the room, oppressive tension immediately swallowing them. 

Ianthe leaned over and whispered something to Coronabeth, her eyes glued to Harrow’s neck, and she evidently said something scandalous, as Corona flushed deeply when Ianthe pulled away. Harrow, observant as ever, warily eyed the twins while she settled back into her chair. 

‘Did anything of importance happen while we had some refreshments?’ Harrow said, leaning her chin into her intertwined hands, sharp elbows propped up on the table. Her cover of getting ‘refreshments’ was plausible enough, and Gideon only hoped it would hold. 

It was Camilla who spoke first. ‘I suggested knives with the main metal being the conductor, with the outer sealant metals encasing the battery. It would almost be a small dagger, not a little folding knife.’

Harrow nodded, scribbling down a few notes. That idea held potential.

‘I think we could try to develop a wearable synthan battery and connect it to the weapon via old-fashioned wiring. So you could carry the battery in a fanny-pack or backpack and the weapon draws synthan from that,’ Dulcinea explained. 

(‘That’s been my idea all along!’ Judith Deuteros shot at the frail young woman. ‘Don’t steal it!’)

(‘Yours is wireless. We don’t know yet if synthan can be transmitted like wi-fi or radio waves in a fashion that the weapons can register and utilize. Just because we don’t need to touch the source as a necro means the weapons are the same.’ Dulcinea said, always patient with the younger girls.)

The rest of the table watched on uncomfortably as the two realized their hushed conversation was anything but discreet. Judith’s dark skin took on a glimmer of sweat as she nervously flicked her eyes across the room. Dulcinea continued smiling, giving the illusion of obliviousness, which probably wasn’t an illusion considering she was Dulcinea. 

‘Griddle,’ Harrow turned to the side, poking Gideon in the ribs. 

‘What?’

‘I want to test synthan’s transmissibility potential over the weekend. I’ll need your help.’

‘Okay,’ Griddle agreed, adding, ‘Also, don’t poke me.’

Harrow ignored that last comment as she began another design, this time with complicated circuitry and radio coils that mimicked a crude crystal radio combined with an early Apple motherboard from the 1980’s. 

‘And there is also Judith and Marta’s combined idea of synthan-infused kevlar gear, which is interesting, but not what the director has in mind.’ Dulcinea said. ‘And Jeannemarie took their idea and thinks that the synthan gear would be better as more traditional armor, as solid sheets of battery metal have more mass than the fibers, which provide a greater surface area due to their minute size.’

‘Do we have a general consensus on if synthan output is stronger with more mass or surface area?’ Ianthe interjected, disrupting Dulcinea’s soothing tone.

‘Currently I’m putting more weight into the mass theory,’ Harrow said, leaning back in her hair, arms crossed, mental shields up. She had a plan stewing in her mind; Gideon recognized that posture, that aura; it was the one that was almost entirely closed off to outside influences while her mind was formulating something big. 

‘But wouldn’t more exposed surface area mean the synthan charge is more evenly distributed? A steadier, if less intense, flow of power for the necromancers?’ Judith argued, her own posture mimicking Harrow’s, except she simply meant to be intimidating. 

‘Perhaps the preference of synthan distribution and flow is dependent on the necromancer themselves?’ Coronabeth suggested, looking up from her phone, lazily twisting golden stands of hair around an index finger. 

‘You’re probably right,’ Ianthe grudgingly concluded. ‘We  _ just don’t know enough _ .’

Gideon pressed her hands to her temples and slowly exhaled. All these smart people doing smart people things made her head throb. 

However, she didn’t need to worry much longer, as she fell asleep a few minutes later. 

— — —

‘Griddle. Wake up. Griddle,’ Harrow said, violently shaking her shoulder. 

‘Wha...?’ Gideon mumbled, blinking back sleep. ‘Was I sleeping?’

‘Yes, you were. For two hours. We need to meet up with the project director again and the others are already there.  _ We’re going to be late if you don’t get off your ass.’ _

‘Shit,’ she said, rising from her chair. Gideon swayed, a crik in her back complaining from the uncomfortable sleeping place, her knees unstable while the blood flowed back into them. 

‘Don’t fall on me,’ Harrow said impatiently, yet she swerved over to wrap her hands around Gideon regardless, steadying her. 

‘Wasn’t planning on it.’

Harrow tugged her along by the hem of her shirt after she picked up her notes. ‘We need to leave, like,  _ now _ .’ 

They both hurried down the halls, Harrow clutching a mess of papers to her chest, Gideon following right behind. When they reached the meeting room, lights on, voices murmuring from the doorway, Gideon released a relieved sigh as she realized the director wasn’t there yet. They were on time. 

But something was wrong. 

Coronabeth was being unusually pushy with her phone, shoving the glittering pink device up in Camilla’s disinterested face. She was glowing, as usual, but her eyes glimmered with a new cruel mirth. 

‘Look at her! Such a big baby,’ she said, her words dripping sarcasm. 

‘Hmm,’ Camilla grunted in response, trying to turn away while not being too rude to Corona. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable, her lips pinched and her eyes searching the room to look at  _ anything  _ but whatever was on the phone’s screen. 

Then Coronabeth fluttered around the table, crouching next to Dulcinea. 

‘Lookit lookit,’ she said, shoving her phone into Dulcinea’s spidery hands. 

‘Yes, Nav is quite endearing when she’s asleep,’ Dulcinea mused. She chuckled slightly, not unkindly, before handing the obnoxiously pink phone back to Corona, who proceeded to attempt to show Judith the photo next, who simply said halfheartedly, ‘Yeah, she’s cute,’ and then pointedly ignoring her. 

‘Hold the fuck up,’ Gideon said, her voice raised in alarm. ‘Did I just hear you say what I think you said?’

‘Why, yes you did,’ Corona giggled. ‘I got the most embarrassing picture of you as you were conked out back there. Look, you’re drooling like an idiot.’

To prove that last statement, she held the phone out across the table, displaying the notorious image in question. In it Gideon was fast asleep, her mouth hanging open, red hair a bit mussed, and sure enough, a little trail of drool was creeping down from the corner of her lips. 

Enraged, Gideon started to climb onto the marble table with the intent to throttle her, smashing her perfect face in to the point where Ianthe would be the beautiful one. She was nearly within range of Corona’s irritatingly flawless complexion when wiry arms closed around her hips, dragging her back. 

Quick as lightning, Harrow had abandoned her papers and grabbed Gideon around the middle, hauling her off the table, hissing swears under her breath. 

‘Delete that!’ Gideon said indignantly. All the previously occupied heads in the room collectively rose to stare at her, disturbed by the commotion. 

‘Gideon, stop! Calm down!’ Harrow commanded, her hands clasped tight on Griddle’s wrists to prevent any punches from flying. ‘Gideon!’

Distracted by Harrow, Gideon stared down at her, gold eyes burning. Harrow held her steady gaze, discreetly smoothing her thumbs on the insides of Gideon’s wrists. 

‘Please?’ Harrow asked, softly, giving her wrists a gentle squeeze. 

Gideon huffed, her nose wrinkling in irritation, and deflated. Operation Smash Corona’s Face In would have to be temporarily postponed.

Suddenly, she tore away from Harrow as the project director threw open the doors with a bang and stormed in.  _ I’m so sorry _ ,  _ Harrow,  _ she thought, worried she accidentally might’ve broken something when Harrow flinched.

‘ _ IS EVERYONE IN THE PROJECT PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR _ ?’ The director roared, causing half the interns to jump out of their skins. His fleshy face was puffy and bright pink, and his presence was magnified many times of that of his body as he waddled to his throne. He had the sorry appearance of a bloated cadaver left too long face down, the blood stagnating in unfortunate patterns. 

Rattled, Gideon huddled down in her seat in a desperate attempt to hide. It didn’t work. The interns who still had some semblance of control over their bodies bobbled their heads, too afraid to say anything. 

Her fear increased in multitudes as the director spied a suspicious white stain on the leather arm of his chair, muttering something too low for her to catch. Her heart fought to rip out of her chest and sprint for the mountains as her mind raced through all the ways he could punish her before throwing her out, most of which involved her body broken under his 20-plus stones of blubber. Discreetly glancing to Harrow, she was slightly relieved that Harrow was white as a sheet, not bright red. If they got busted, at least Gideon would be the one receiving the worst of it. 

The director grumbled some choice words and sank his fleshy body into the chair, those beady eyes searching the interns for anything resembling guilt or otherwise incriminating evidence. Most of them, however, were all pale; those with lighter skin white as chalk, those with usually rich brown complexions sickly and colorless in fear. Only Coronabeth was unaffected, still glimmering and oblivious. 

‘Start talking, you brain-dead idiots. Start presenting. I’ve had packages of plastic kiddie straws more productive than you lot,’ he said, knitting his hands together in preparation to verbally dismember his victims. 

This spurned mad paper shuffling from most everyone. Judith and Marta whipped open neatly arranged binders; Dulcinea riffled through a post-it infested stack of blueprints; Ianthe slammed down a spread of papers cramped with minute handwriting and rough sketches. 

Harrow dropped half of her stack over her thighs as she tried to place them on the table, but the papers slipped through the space between them and fluttered to rest around her. Still high-strung and nervous, Gideon dove from her chair to gather up the mess, but she landed awkwardly and banged her elbow on the table, immediately hampering her paper-gathering abilities. She tried anyway, handing Harrow the farthest away of the thin sheets, her arm smarting from the impact. 

In the harsh brightness of the artificial lights Harrow was tired and frail in comparison to the others, her skin dull, the tendons stretching over the backs of her hands prominent as she expectantly watched her girlfriend align the bundle of notes. Hurrying up, Gideon gave her the last of the papers before returning to her seat, resisting the urge to kiss Harrow’s forehead. Then she waited for her turn on the chopping block, sweat creeping down from her collarbones and neck. 

Thankfully, the Tridentarius twins were already occupying the director’s attention, Ianthe with her proposal, taking up approximately 3% of his attention, and Corona with her boobs taking all the rest. Judging from the director’s approving grunts, Gideon figured that Corona’s low cut shirt (and possible lack of a bra) was the main culprit for his ignoring of the discord rampant outside of his attention bubble. 

Then Harrow reached under the table to squeeze Gideon’s hand, taking advantage of his distracted state. As Harrow brought her hand back up to riffle through her blueprints, Gideon anxiously unfolded the scrap of paper given to her, hands shaking so much she could barely read the writing. 

_ You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Remember earlier. We got through that - we can get through this together too.  _

Her heart twisted as she refolded the note, tucking it in her pocket. She ached inside, resisting the urge to hug Harrow, to tell her all the things that would make her smile and feel wanted, and special, and all the things her parents never understood well enough to provide. She wanted Harrow to laugh her quiet rasping laugh, and cuddle into her side, burying her face in Gideon’s neck. She wanted to lace her hands with Harrow’s, kiss her fingertips, and pet her hair until she was dozing off. For each thing that crossed her mind, she made a mental note, which ended up being a generic  _ Love On Harrow _ . 

That would have to wait for later, though. 

‘Nonagesimus. Yes, you, the little shit in the sweatshirt,’ The director said, training his putrid pig’s eyes onto Harrow’s slight form. Harrow visibly withered under his stare, bracing herself for the oncoming abuse.

Gideon reflexively swallowed, preparing for Harrow to say something either tactless or dry or otherwise completely useless. 

‘If my choices in attire do not meet your standard for the interns, I would be happy to remove any offending articles,’ Harrow dryly said, meaning  _ I’ll loose the hoodie if I must _ , but Gideon took it completely differently. __

The director smiled, a filthy, creeping motion, like the ones typical of comic book villains, indicative of disgusting fantasies playing out in his mind. 

A low whistle escaped from Ianthe’s lips, and those who were only half-petrified in fear petrified the rest of the way. Turns out Gideon wasn’t the only one suspecting the director had a taste for barely legal teenage girls. 

_ Harrow, what did you do? _ Cringing, Gideon’s hyperactive imagination bombarded her with nightmarish scenes of what the director would probably end up wanting now he could twist Harrow’s words into ‘permission.’ She tried unsuccessfully to block the rapid fire of Harrow naked in front of the toadlike director; Harrow with his disgusting dick forced in her mouth, only wearing her panties; Harrow with her wrists bound on the table, bony legs spread for his hungry eyes, nipples hard from the ice cold stone instead of arousal; Harrow held down by carbon-copied charcoal-suited goons as his sweating sausage-esque fingers penetrated her, forcing in more fingers than she could take just to have her tortured screams echo down the halls and lick her blood of his hands as he forcefully tore her hymen. 

Silently, Gideon seethed in rage, stewing more plans to keep Harrow out of harm’s way. 

Harrow had already experienced far too much in her eighteen years of life. Her parents died when she was ten, leaving her in the care of a bunch of equally clueless relatives who all wanted her out of their houses, and by extension, their lives. She never had friends (other than Griddle) because nobody wanted to play with the depressed orphan who couldn’t socialize properly and thought she indirectly murdered her parents. She had already shown signs of mental distress ever since she walked in to find their corpses hanging from the ceiling fan in their bedroom, swaying in a breeze not caused by wind currents. Soon after, she discovered that she had strange abilities, abilities that gave her a surreal control over both living and ancient bones. Interestingly, when she came into her power, so did the others of the newest generation of modern necromancers, who were also some of the others in the current internship.

Yet despite her newfound abilities, Harrow’s mental state quickly spiraled downwards after she came into her necromancy. She sometimes stopped eating for days at a time when her self-hatred was at its worst, trying to starve her sins away, to purify herself in the way her parents taught her. Those were the times when she never slept because her mind hated her too, and it would never let her rest because of horrific crimes she didn’t commit but was convinced she had to suffer for anyway. Gideon had seen her in her best and worst throughout their childhoods, as she was the one who would sometimes feed Harrow when she refused to eat, and she was the one who would hold her in the night as she refused to sleep and dream of hell. Gideon was her anchor, her protector, her only true friend, the only one who wanted her in a cold and unforgiving world.

And at the end of the day, Harrow still believed herself responsible for her parent’s suicides. 

It was utter bullshit, but it was the only way her fragile mind could rationalize why they did what they did. And there was nothing Gideon could do to convince her otherwise.

This also left Gideon with a personal mission to keep Harrow safe and happy and as healthy as she could manage. Unfortunately, the Protecting Harrow mission wasn’t going too well. Now that both Ianthe  _ and _ the director had Harrow in their perverted fantasies, Gideon could not afford slacking off. She had slacked off earlier, falling dead asleep in the planning room, but she doubted Ianthe would try anything as the other interns watched. Ianthe was devilishly clever, and if she premeditated enough she’d probably be able to get away with murder. The director, however, could abuse his power in a way Ianthe probably only dreamed of, which did not sit well with Gideon.

As Gideon stewed, two plans formed: the first was to glue herself to Harrow’s side whenever she was in the same vicinity of the director, as she couldn’t throttle the director without robbing Harrow of their chance to develop synthan tech. This was to give Harrow her chance at this, and to keep an eye on the project director. The second involved Ianthe’s unfortunate face and Gideon’s fists connecting in a fight that leaves a long, lingering  _ Fuck you and your creepy-ass advances on my girl  _ in its wake. 

Option two sounded pretty sweet. 

Harrow nudged Gideon’s foot with her own under the table, catching her attention. 

‘Care to elaborate on the performance of the modified rapier?’ Harrow said, her voice edged with razors intended for the director’s temper. 

‘I’d  _ much  _ rather you use modern weapons in your so-called ‘ _ testing _ ’ instead of a weapon as obsolete as you are,’ He muttered at the two girls. 

_ Challenge accepted.  _

Gideon recalled the day’s earlier events, being fucked to the point of her climaxing all over his stupidly plush chair, and grinned. He didn’t know what they did and that made it all the more satisfying. This was her chance and she was going to seize it by the throat. 

_ Fuck you, slimy toad in a man-skin.  _

‘The battery disrupts the balance of the weapon by a considerable amount. It’s not subtle at all. Usually these weapons made without an extra battery plonked on the side are decent enough, but for them to be more than cool toys we’d have to re-balance them entirely. Or you could just have em stay heavy and make for better skull-bashers,’ Gideon said as respectfully as she could muster, which wasn’t much considering she was trying to convince an amphibious alien who hated both her and Harrow’s guts to give their idea the go-ahead. 

Harrow kicked her under the table, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to shut her up, the physical equivalent of  _ Griddle no.  _

‘You  _ are  _ as stupid as you look,’ the director spat.

‘Who says modern weapons have to be long-range?’ Gideon bristled, growing cocky. ‘Once the opponent is incapacitated, it should be easy enough to approach and shatter every bone in their body.’

‘Our proposal is mounting a battery on an assault rifle to charge the bullets, and once the target is hit, the rifle could double as a melee weapon. This could be paired with Dyas’ and Deuteros’ idea of synthan-kevlar,’ Harrow said. 

This made the director’s ears perk up. His venomous glare shifted to that of greed, his mind chewing on the possibilities of a set of necromantic war gear.

A folded square of graph paper landed by Gideon’s lower arm, having been tossed over by someone who wanted to see them succeed. Gideon examined it and an idea sparked, lighting up her hope for what would follow. 

‘Oh yeah. We could also make explosives,’ Gideon interrupted, sliding the synthan grenade blueprint over to him. On the other end of the table, Dulcinea applauded, but only with the hand motions, making no sound. She had kept her idea a secret all this time, and now it was apparent why: it was their trump card.

The director was salivating. Then his toad-like features contorted into a slimy smile, his beady eyes nearly vanishing under his fatty facial wrinkles, his face revolting and nearly vomit-inducing in its awful smarminess. 

' _That_ might do,' He drawled thickly through a film of spit,. 'Finally, you have created something worth more time than at needed to get you to scram.'

The director was sold on their ideas, his interest caught by Dulcinea's design. _Success._

Pride swelled in Gideon’s breast.  Victory was theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A MASSIVE thank-you and shoutout to my beta readers!!! this work of mine has had at least a dozen betas and you have all been SO helpful and sweet. Never stop being awesome, guys.

**Author's Note:**

> credit for the idea of the Harrow in Gideon's hoodie tag belongs to Dami, thank you Dami for your galaxy brain ideas


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